La Fin de la Vie
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /No pairing/Murphy passes on, but Connor can't live without his other half./Title is French for "The End of the Lifetime" and be forewarned, parts two and three aren't nearly as light hearted as one is/
1. Separated

Nicholas: Remember this little snidbit? Well, I've decided to go with what a friend suggested I do with this. There's going to be two more parts. I can tell you, without ruining anything, three things: 1) Part Two is in Murphy's POV 2) Part Three is in Connor's POV 3) Part Three was inspired by a story my Grandma's shrink told me in a session we had cause she "wanted to get to know me." I'm not crazy, alright? Well, not more so than AmandaNut, so there!

Disclaimer: I want to call this "dick"claimer 'cause it really pisses me off to say over and over again that I don't own the Boondock Saints.

Rating: M...language...dark themes in future chapters...violence...character death...all in the other parts.

* * *

"Murphy…" The voice was soft and rough at the same time

"Murphy…" The voice was soft and rough at the same time. It was feminine and masculine all at once. It was warm and comforting while still very frightening and forceful. "Murphy, open your eyes." It was definitely not my brother. I didn't want to get up. I asked for a few more minutes of sleep. "Murphy get your no good ass up!" A swift smack to the head. That'll get me up every time.

"I'm up! Jesus!"

"No, I'm not Jesus, but you're very close." I looked up from the floor I was lying on and my eyes fell upon a beautiful face. Well, I wouldn't really call it _beautiful_, but the of all the languages I know I can't think of one word to describe it. There was no apparent gender about…it. The features seemed to be made of pure light. "Do you know who I am?"

The surface I was sitting on was soft, but stiff. My head started to hurt from all the fucking contradictions. My first opinion of the person before me was what made me settle on a gender. He leaned down to look me in the eyes and a little smile tugged on His face. "God?"

"There you go, sweetheart," He said with a maternal air. "You're recovering nicely, then."

"Recoverin' from what?"

God smiled in good humor and straightened up to what seemed like a massive height. "Your trip to heaven of course." Was I supposed get what He was talking about? "Okay, when you live a good life of faith and love of Me and all that great stuff, you go to heaven when your time comes. I decide who comes and who doesn't and you made the cut, pal. Though that last confession you gave was a bit unnecessary. I didn't need a priest to know that you'd nipped a condom when you were in a hurry."

I shrugged. "'Thou shalt not steal,' right?"

The maternal quality about Him did not leave and I came rather close to calling 'Him' 'Her.' He smiled widely and extended a hand towards me to help me up. "Yeah, I understand the need. I've actually gotten to the point where stealing doesn't bother Me anymore. The way Man goes about life these days leaves too many people too desperate not to steal."

"I'm dead, aren't I?" He pulled me to my feet.

The He/She thing smiled ironically. I felt like an asshole for thinking of God as a He/She thing. "Yes you are," He said, "I'm surprised, I thought I made you quicker than that. Or maybe that was your brother."

I think I may have grunted indignantly, but I instantly felt impolite. He…She just smiled at me thoughtfully. "Don't worry, I'm just kidding. God has a sense of humor too, you know." I suddenly wondered why I was here alone and She just nodded as if knowing what I was going to ask. "Connor is alive, and quite well at the moment. He visits your grave every day. Many times he curses Me, but many men do that."

"How long have I been dead?"

"About three months."

The thought of Connor all alone in a cemetery made my heart wrench. He shouldn't be alone. "Why?"

He wasn't smiling anymore, but nor was he frowning. "His time has not come yet." I was supposed to settle for that, then? "I put you in this world together to bring you apart at the end. Time passes differently in heaven. A few minutes here could be either a few minutes there or a few hundred years. It all depends. Your brother will not suffer long."

"D'ya know what he's doin' right now?"

"He's drinking…again. It's not even noon."

"Can't ya just…ya know…kill 'im now? I don'…" I hung my head, thinking it so very awkward that when in life I never would have wished harm upon my brother, but now I wanted him deed.

God just giggled girlishly. "Don't worry. He'll be with you again soon. Would you like to see what heaven really looks like? I find this gray surrounding very dismal."

I shrugged and nodded and the moment I did I was somewhere else. I can't quite say where I was, because I have never seen anywhere like it before. It was a bit like a forest, but more like the sea. To my left I saw a man lighting a tree—or what looked like a tree—on fire with a match. God followed my gaze.

"Matthias!" He shouted with a strict tone. "Bad! Knock it off!" The man put the match out and ran off with a maniacal laugh. I raised my eyebrow. "Yeah…That wasn't one of my better choices, but it's too late to send him to Hell."

"So this is heaven?"

"Yep."

"What do I do now?"

"Whatever you want. The entire place isn't like this."

"Do you have any cigarettes?"

He laughed in good humor and picked a pack of cigarettes up off the ground. They had definitely not been there before. She handed them to me. "You don't have to smoke anymore. Your lungs are clean and your addiction is nonexistent." As strange as it sounds, He was right. I didn't even feel an urge. The pack disappeared. "See? Look at your hand."

I did, and my tattoo was not there. "Fuckin' shite!" No ugly scar, nothing there. I felt my arm and the scar from my gunshot wound was gone as well. Out of impulse, I lifted my white shirt and noticed that there was not tattoo saying "Norman" either—which I can't say I'm too sad about losing, but anyway.

"You are cleansed."

"I have a question…God." It felt awkward calling Him God, but I did it anyway.

"Yes?"

"Do you hate fags…I mean homosexuals, fuck!"

She laughed at my profanity and just raised an eyebrow. "No, of course not. It's just a bit creepy, that's all."

"What about incest?"

"Again, creepy, but not damnable by my standards. You have to understand that I created that just as the straight sex people take advantage of these days. And as for incest, Adam and Eve were brother and sister."

"So that one time with Connor when we were really drunk…"

"Don't want to think about it."

"Yep…sorry." I looked around, wondering what to do. "Got any whiskey?"


	2. Pained

Nicholas: Okay, here is part two. There are somethings in this that might not be self-explanatory, so you'll just be all the more inclined to click that next chapter button and read on. The end (the part in Italics) is Connor's POV. And here is the twinkies bit I borrowed, by the by.

* * *

Bein' dead en't that bad. Dyin' is what sucks. Unless ya die quickly, I s'pose, but I didn't. As I look back on it, I wish I hadn't gotten ta know what bein' paralyzed felt like b'fore I kicked the bucket. An' seein' that look on Connor's face before I was gone. That's what put me off ease all this time. If ya didn't believe a spirit could be apprehensive, wake the fuck up!

So now I'm waitin' on God 'cause He tends ta come an' go when he pleases. I can't hold it against Him, o' course. I mean, c'mon. It's God! An' I'm not sayin' that my first impression o' God was a letdown er anythin'. It's just that She's a lot different than the common, Christian perception. Er…He. I still haven't quite gotten that down yet.

"What is it, Murphy?" She always seems to come up behind me an' no matter how many times She does it I jump outta my skin—if I had that, which I don't.

"Fuck…" I don't think I'll ever stop cursin', but hey, this is Heaven. I can do what I want, right? "Um…I was wonderin' if I could ask a favor of ya. It's pro'bly a bit arrogant ta do that, en't it?"

"Not at all." There's that maternal smile again.

"Well, ya know how ya said I shouldn't worry about that livin' an' that I'd be reunited with me brother in time?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I can't do that. I can't sit without knowin' how he is, if he's alright and shite like that."

His smiled fades slightly an' He seems ta be deep in thought. I can't help but wonder what it must be like to have a mind that controls the destinies o' billions o' people on earth. "Ya want ta go see him?"

Now that, I was not expectin'. Sure, I want ta see him, but I figured God would just tell me about him like last time. "Yes."

"Okay, close your eyes."

It tingles fer a bit. Kinda like how it feels when yer foot falls asleep, except this is all over my body. I'm not sure whether I like it er not. It's like I sneezed too many times—which is strange, I'd almost fergotten what sneezin' felt like. I open my eyes an' see God lookin' at me with a goofy grin. She is more playful than I thought she'd be, I'll tell ya that much.

"Where are we?"

The apartment's nice fer a cheap place. It's a step up from the loft Conn an' I used ta live in. There's a clean, hardly used kitchen in a nice corner of the living room/dining room. I can see straight down the hall into the restroom, which looks like it's seen better days. An' there's a door ta the right o' that that's closed. "There?" I point an' He nods.

I don't have the same sorta touch like I used ta when I was alive. I can't actually grasp anything or feel anything in what I like ta call "the realm o' the livin'." Yes, I'm just a dramatic fuck sometimes.

Straight through the door 'cause I can't touch it anyway. I'm in a bedroom. Not just any bedroom either. It's small an' there are various articles o' clothing, books an' beer bottles strewn about the floor. In the far corner is a bed—all o' the blankets and shite are on the floor around it. Layin' there is none other than my twin. He's awake.

"Just so you know," God said, comin' up behind me. "He can't hear or see you unless he wants to. Usually people aren't aware of the presence of the immortal part of you, so the will to listen is a given absence."

"Where are we?"

"Miami, Florida. Your brother moved out of the flat you two had kept uptown and now lives in this little place in a slum somewhere in the suburbs."

Oh Christ, Connor, yer so stupid. An' then he turns over an' I realize he isn't actually asleep. He's lookin' right at me. He has ta see me, right? Nope. He's seein' straight past me. I can tell 'cause he looks like he always does when he's starin' off inta space.

Walkin' up ta him—well not really walkin'. If I tried walkin' in this room I'd fall flat on my face five times from the effort. I stand at his side now, he doesn't look up. I don't know what I had expected from this visit. Maybe a feelin' o' closeness I haven't felt since I died. It's not there.

Maybe he feels it. 'Cause as he smiles, I can see him looked around just a bit. "I miss ya, Murph," he says.

"I'm right here, Connor." He probably can't hear me an' that's just a stab in the heart. He doesn't reply. He can't hear me. I kneel down an' look him straight in the eyes. How can he not see me? I can see him clear as day. "Ya know I'm here."

An' suddenly he takes a deep breath an' shuts his eyes. I think he's tryin' not to cry. Fuckin' proud bastard.

"Am not."

That's him talkin'. Is he talkin' ta me? "Connor?" But he's not talkin'. His mouth en't movin'. Can I hear his thoughts? Somehow I already know that's the case.

"Murphy, we can't stay for very long." That's God talkin' ta me, but I don' want ta hear Her. I wanna stay here with me brother 'cause he just looks so lonely. Who am I ta think I can just leave him like this?

I stand, but not 'cause I want ta. With that one last look at me brother I'm turnin' and walkin' out.

_Fergive me, Father, fer I have sinned. It's been…I don' know how long._

_What was your sin, my son?_

_I tried ta kill meself. Is that a sin?_

…_Why would you do such a thing?_

_My brother died. I can't live without him, Father, I can't! We're twins, we come in two's, ya know? Like Twinkies._


	3. Reunited

Nicholas: Yes, this is a bit intense. For those of you that would be mad that I hurt the twins (cause I do...a lot now that I think about it), there is a happy ending if you look for it. Oh, and AmandaNut will appreciate a certain line in this.

* * *

_It was dark. It's always dark on assignments like these. I was followin' me brother through some fuckin' labyrinth o' back alleys in some fergotten slum south o' New York City. Usually the dark didn't bother me much, but that night was different._

_I had this scary, sorta forbodin' feelin' in my gut. Ever had that sure feelin' that yer bein' watched, er somethin's gonna jump out at ya if ya let yer guard down? That's what I felt. That's what was makin' my stomach do jumpin' jacks and loop-di-loops. I had no idea why._

_"Murphy, I have a bad feelin' about this," I muttered, the impendin' dark and quiet of the deserted street makin' me voice go a bit soft._

_"Oh, calm down. We've done it a hundred times." He wasn't hidin' the nervousness in his voice._

_Right, we _had_ done it a hundred times, maybe more. Still, this was the first time since Da passed. O' course, I mean, since Da was shot in the back o' the head by some punk-ass mob peon. Fuckin' coward couldn't even dare to hit a sixty-year-old man face-to-face. The memory made my stomach lurch violently. This was not a good night._

_"I'm gonna vomit, Murph."_

_He stopped an' turned around. "What? Now?" Fergive me if his lack o' compassion seemed a bit annoyin' ta me. He was doin' nothin' fer my head ache. "Ya sick er somethin'?"_

_"No, I'm nervous." I didn't expect him ta laugh, an' he didn't. Fer a moment my gag reflex went haywire an' I bent over just in case I really did throw up._

_"Shite, Connor…" He looked around carefully and walked up to me. "Ya sure as hell know how ta pick a fuckin' time ta have a fit."_

_"Fuck ye."_

_I felt him rub my back an' knew he was tryin' ta be comfertin' no matter how much he just wanted ta get on with what we were doin'. I felt a bit bad that I was bein' a dead weight. "Maybe ye should go wait in the car," Murphy suggested._

I'm no fuckin' good at card hustlin'. It's harder than it looks in the movies an' shite, but that doesn't matter much right now. The guy across the table looks more pissed off than me ma got when Murphy'd put a family o' frogs in her bed fer her birthday one year. Murphy was always doin' shite like that.

I'm afraid ta put my hand down. Does this guy suspect anythin'? Even if he does, who cares, really? The worst thing he could lawfully do is curse at me an' get me kicked out, right? Damn, this would be so much easier if Murph was here ta help me. Goddamn it…I feel like cryin' again, an' don' give me any shite for it, either. What would ya do if yer brother, the person ya spent every second o' yer life with just up an'…died.

Fucker left me alone.

"_I'm not waitin' in the fuckin' car," I snapped. I held my aching belly an' straightened my back awkwardly. "Not unless ye come with me an' we both go home right now."_

_Murphy rolled his eyes and turned away from me. "Why're ya doin' this now, huh? Now that we're out here and ready and shite, you decide you want ta wimp out? What the fuck?"_

_"Hey, fuck ye, alright!" I think I was shouting at this point, even though that was probably not the best idea. "Goddamn it, Murph. Don' ya feel the least bit apprehensive? Yer a fuckin' liar!"_

_He'd tried ta say no. He'd tried ta shake his head an' deny that he was just a scared as I was. I knew fer a fact he felt what I felt, we'd been through this before when Da died an' the most horrifyin' thought I had was that this was another premonition an' that Murphy wouldn't make out o' this one._

_"I wanna go home."_

_"Then go home, I'm not stoppin' ya!" He shrugged the duffle bag off his shoulder an' set it on the ground. Then he unzipped it, took out two hand guns and handed the bag ta me. "Go home, take some Vicodin an' go ta sleep."_

_I tried ta hear the concern in his voice—'cause there was something other than flat out annoyance. "I'm not leavin' without ye, Murph."_

_"Christ, Connor…What d'ya want, a fuckin' hall pass?"_

_I never got a warnin'. Neither o' us even heard the shot until I saw Murphy crumble ta the ground. An' my heart just about stopped. There was a bullet in his back. Time seemed ta be gracious an' slow down so I could take my time an' realize: Murphy'd just been shot._

_"Fuck!" My knees stung with how fast I'd fallen ta his side. I didn't think about that. "Murphy?" I touched an' he twitched awkwardly. I gripped his arm gently and tried to pull him up a bit to face me._

_"No, don't!" He took in a deep breath (a deep, pained breath). "I can't move my legs, Conn."_

_Abruptly, I saw movement in the darkness before me. It was three men, an' the moment I saw guns I was seein' red as well. I grabbed Murphy's handgun from his right hand an' he didn't even move ta stop me. I stood._

_Eight rounds followed; there o' them were mine. It's a miracle I wasn't hit, but my shots counted. Well, two o' them did at least. Two men fell an' the third took off like a fuckin' pussy. I fired again, but missed. Again, another miss. Once more, he disappeared around a corner. I was about ta follow that cocksucker, but I heard Murphy._

_He said my name. Well, it sounded more like a croak. His breathing was comin' in gasps an' his face was twisted with the pain I thought was so frighteningly real that I felt it._

_"What is it, Murph?"_

_"I can't move. Why…why can't I move?" I noticed then that he really couldn't move. His legs an' arms were completely still._

_"I don'…I don' know." I looked him over, assessed the damage as I've been in the habit ta do. The bullet hole in his shirt was right between his shoulder blades. Right in the spine. "I think yer…yer paralyzed, Murphy."_

_It hurt ta say it an' his reaction hurt worse. He let out a quiet cry an' squeezed his eyes shut._

I take another sip o' beer 'cause that's all I seem ta do these days. It really can't be healthy, but since when do I care, right? Not much I seem ta do these days is very healthy. I picked a fight last week an' got me ass handed ta me. ("Excuse me, sir. Is this yer ass? I found it over there, where I kicked it.")

I haven't done a hit since "the incident" happened. I don' think I could survive it all alone. An' all alone has never sounded worse. I never wondered what it would be like to be alone (ALL ALONE). No Murphy, no Da, no Rocco…it's painful.

I haven't done a hit since it happened, but as I look across the table at the man before me I remember what it felt like when me brother and me had first started. I could tell that this guy was a regular scumbag just by the look o' him. For the first time in months, I have the desperate urge ta hold a gun again, but I've made a vow.

"_I'm sorry, Conn. I'm sorry." His fingers twitched slightly, but that was the only movement I saw. "Ye were right. As usual."_

_That's when my heart threatened ta claw its way outta me chest. I felt that pain surge up my throat that, into my eyes an' I knew I was cryin'. "Don' start…Don' do all o' that sentimental bull."_

_He looked like he was struggling to breathe, an' I felt the same. "Shut up." What followed mighta been a laugh, but I couldn't tell. "Promise me somethin', will ya?"_

_"Don' talk like that, yer gonna be fine. So what if ya can't move, I'll help ya. Don' ya dare die on me, Murphy."_

_"Connor shut the _fuck_ up fer two seconds!" Any other situation I woulda smacked him upside the head once er twice fer good measure. "Live, okay? That's it. I want ya ta live, even if that means ya never pick up a gun again. Just live."_

_"Alright." In all honesty it seemed like a stupid thing ta say._

_"Promise?"_

_"Aye, I promise."_

"How many aces are in the deck?" The man across from me asks. It's good enough distraction from my current thoughts ta keep me from burstin' out cryin' er blowin' chucks all over the table.

"Four last time I checked." Those four that are in my hand. Now is where the real apprehension sets in. What if he has another ace? (I'm fucked six ways to Sunday.) _Keep a straight face, Connor, yer doing fine_. But that wasn't me thinkin' just then. "Ya callin' me a cheat?"

"Nah, I'm calling you a lying piece of shit." Well, at least he's not callin' me a cheat, that'd be fuckin' tragic.

I laugh slightly at my own sarcasm an' apparently this idiot is mistakin' me fer laughin' at him. What am I ta do, really? He draws a gun. Yep, _so_ hadn't seen that one comin'. Didn't I say he was a fuckin' scumbag. "What, yer gonna shoot me?"

I saw a flash o' frightened indecision in his eyes tellin' me that he did, _in fact_, have a conscience. Ev'ryone with at least a bit of a sense o' right an' wrong thinks twice b'fore shootin' some stranger in a club in downtown Miami. "You lack the courage o' yer convictions, sir." I'd heard that in a movie, it seemed ta fit the moment.

In most situations like this I've been scared shitless o' what the guy with the gun would do, but now I only feel a bit o' that fear. This guy wouldn't shoot me, an' even if he did…who the fuck cares? Ev'ryone dies.

I got kicked out, o' course, so now I'm just walkin' home. Yeah, real bright: _walk_ home down the dark midnight streets in the ghetto-est place in Florida. Sure, compared ta South Boston, this is a fuckin' walk in the park, but without Murphy…I'm not much of a fighter by meself—as was proved last week when I had the shite beaten outta me. I'll never ferget that, either.

The night's nice an' warm—like always. I still don't want ta take off my coat 'cause it's actually Murphy's an' I wear ta God I'll never take it off. O' course, I don' sleep in it on, that'd be weird.

Ah, fuck!

My head is suddenly flyin' off ta the side of it's own accord, takin' the rest o' me slammin' into a wall. Ouch. I don' have ta look, I know someone was probably pickin' a fight, or tryin' ta mug me, or just a serial killer er some shite like that. Or there's more than one o' them.

Two pairs of arms have mine gripped tightly b'fore I can think ta recover. I'm falling backwards an' hit somethin'—a man. I open my eyes (I don' remember closin' them).

"Well looked who it is," I hear meself say, "the fuckin' cocksucker that took off with his tail set firmly between his legs last time we met."

A twisted grin on my opponents face an' I can now realize that this is in fact one o' the jackasses that killed me brother. What am I ta do now? There's two strong guys—fuck if I know where he picked up these fucks—holdin' me back from releasin' the wrath o' God on this dickwad. Wow, my language is getting' colorful there, en't it?

"I think you got the worse end of the stick, mate. Wouldn't you agree?"

Jack ass…fuckin' bastard. I try pullin' my arm free, but that is _not_ happenin' any time soon. "Ya killed me brother, ya fuck!"

"You killed two of mine."

Now's when I smirk like the jerk I pride meself as bein'. "An' ya think _I_ got the worse end o' the deal? 'Least Murphy's in heaven. Yer two brothers're prob'ly roastin' in hell."  
Socks me in the stomach. Fer just a moment, those guys let up on their grips. I'm not quick enough ta take advantage of it. They want me on my knees an' I en't fallin'—FUCK that. "I'm sorry, yer right. No probability about it. They're fuckin' damned." I've never sounded braver, an' I feel pretty good as well. Well, aside from the ache in me gut.

Now it's my face. I close my eyes again an' just feel the blows as they come. Three ta the face, one ta the chest an' a few more in the stomach. There's somethin' warm runnin' down from my nose. Blood, most likely.

Yep, that's my blood on the ground. The only reason I'm lookin' is 'cause there's a change. No more punches. Somethin' grabbin' me hair—I mean some_one_ o' course. My head en't too clear right now. I'm havin' a bit o' trouble seein' what's goin' on around me, but I'm pretty sure that's a gun in Dickwad's hand.

I'm not gettin' out o' this one this time. Usually I can rely on Murph ta save my ass, but not this time.

"Get down on your knees," he says.

"Fuck ye." I spit at his feet, but it's mostly blood mixed with some saliva.

Gun slams across my face. Ouch. More o' that sweet, red liquid an' a tooth swish around in my mouth. "On your knees, prick." Damn it all fer repetition. That's one o' me least favorite literary terms.

I glare at him, just long enough fer him ta know it en't happenin'. If I could flip him off, I would, but as I think about doin' that I realize that he doesn't need ta be pissed off any more than he already is. Two gunshots. Two excruciatingly painful holes now where me knees used ta be. FUCK!

I won't shout. I fall 'cause I can't stand anymore an' that's as far as I'll go as far as pain goes, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much those tears sting my eyes. This bastard won't see it, I won't let him. I look up just in time ta come face ta face with that oh so familiar 45. an' I see a grin on his face. This really is it, en't it? Wow, I never thought I'd be so calm. Sorry Murphy, but this guy's so insistent, I just don' think I can refuse.

_Yer beyond stoppin' him, Connor_. That is definitely not me thinkin'! It's like I'm hearin' it, but in my head. Who is it 'cause it definitely en't me! I want ta think it's Murphy, but that's just silly. He's dead, but then again, what am I in the next few minutes?

An' then, suddenly, I'm not seein' that gun anymore. I'm not seein' much of anythin'. I can't feel the pain anymore. The overwhelmin', familiar feelin' of arms wrapped around me takes over the pain. An' that smell…I can't ferget it. Years, a lifetime o' that smell an' this touch an' the brush o' his hair on me face.

"Murph?"


End file.
